“Call it what you will,” she answered quietly. “Nothing can stop me. Nay, you can arrest me now, but you cannot close my mouth, nor can you put me in any prison so close that this truth shall not escape—to the very footstool of your Prince, who for shame must hear me—”
“Now, if I knew who told you—” said the Master of Stair, “who played this trick on me.” He clenched his hand tightly against the marble grapes.
Delia opened the door; it seemed as if she was to go without another word.
“Stop,” cried the Master of Stair.
She paused, holding the door ajar, and looked back.
“Who is the dearer to you,” asked Sir John, “your Jacobite friends or these Macdonalds?”
She stared in a slow horror.
“I give you your choice,” pursued the Master of Stair. “The Macdonalds did not take the oath before the appointed time—yet they took it. If you and your friends will keep this knowledge secret—if you will neither warn the Highlanders nor rouse the Jacobites—then I will burn those papers I hold.”
The door slipped from Delia’s fingers; she moved back and lifted a colorless face. “What is the punishment you have for the Macdonalds?” she asked faintly, “what are you going to do with them?”
“Extirpate them,” he answered, “the whole race of them. Now choose—your friends or them.”